Gone, Baby, Gone - Dennis Lehane [19]
I looked at the glass front of the cigarette machine, saw my reflection and the reflection of two men behind me. They approached from the pool table, sticks in hand, the bald one in the lead.
“Helene McCready,” Big Dave said, his eyes still locked on Angie, “is a nothing. A loser. Means her kid woulda been a loser. So whatever happened to the kid, she’s better off. What I don’t like is people coming in my bar, implying I’m a dealer, running their mouths like they’re better than me.”
Lenny’s son leaned against the door and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Dave,” I said.
“Big Dave,” he said through gritted teeth, his eyes never leaving Angie.
“Dave,” I said, “don’t be a fuckup here.”
“Did you hear him, Big Dave?” Angie said, a hint of tremor in her voice. “Don’t be stupid.”
I said, “Look at me, Dave.”
Dave glanced in my direction, more to check on the progress of the two pool players coming up behind me than because of what I’d said, and his head froze as he spotted the .45 Colt Commander in my waistband.
I’d moved it there from the holster at the small of my back the moment Lenny’s son had walked over to block the door, and Dave raised his eyes from my waist to my face and quickly recognized the difference between someone who exposes a gun for show and someone who does so to use it.
“Either of those guys behind me takes another step,” I told Big Dave, “and this situation’s going nuclear.”
Dave glanced over my shoulder and shook his head quickly.
“Tell that asshole to move away from the door,” Angie said.
“Ray,” Big Dave called, “sit back down.”
“Why?” Ray said. “The fuck for, Big Dave? Free country and shit.”
I tapped the butt of the .45 with my index finger.
“Ray,” Big Dave said, his eyes locked on me now, “get away from the door or I’ll fucking put your head through it.”
“Okay,” Ray said. “Okay, okay. Jeez, Big Dave. I mean, jeez and shit.” Ray shook his head, but instead of returning to his seat, he unlocked the door and walked out of the bar.
“Quite the orator, our Ray,” I said.
“Let’s go,” Angie said.
“Sure.” I pushed my bar stool away with my leg.
The two pool players stood just off to my right as I turned toward the door. I glanced at the one who’d spilled beer on my shoe. He held his pool stick upside down in both hands, the hilt resting on his shoulder. He was stupid enough to still be standing there, but not so stupid he was going to move any closer.
“Now,” I told him, “you have a problem.”
He glanced at the stick in his hands, at the sweat darkening the wood below his hands.
I said, “Drop the stick.”
He considered the distance between us. He considered the butt of the .45 and my right hand resting a half inch away from it. He looked into my face. Then he bent and placed the stick by his feet. He stepped back from it as his friend’s stick clattered loudly to the floor.
I turned away and took five steps down the bar and then stopped. I looked back at Big Dave. “What?” I said.
“Excuse me?” Dave watched my hands.
“I thought you said something.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I thought you said that maybe you hadn’t told us everything you could have about Helene McCready.”
“I didn’t,” Big Dave said, and held up his hands. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Angie,” I said, “you think Big Dave told us everything?”
She had stopped by the door, her .38 held loosely in her left hand as she leaned against the doorjamb. “Nope.”
“We think you’re holding out, Dave.” I shrugged. “Just an opinion.”
“I told you everything. Now I think you both should just—”
“Come back when you’re closing up tonight?” I said. “That’s a great idea, Big Dave. You got it. We’ll come back then.”
Big Dave shook his head several times. “No, no.”
“Say about two, two-fifteen?” I nodded. “See you then,